From the late 1940s through the late 1950s, ice-skating on the ponds and lakes in Copake and Ancram was an early winter pleasure for my brothers and me. Our sister, born in 1949, joined us on these outings in the mid-1950s, always the tomboy. A hard freeze in November or December usually preceded any measureable snow, so the ideal condition of a smooth plate of ice was good for a couple of weeks of carefree skating.
We lived at Chimney Hill Farm on a dirt road, later named Snyder Road. Our family farm is now an elegant horse farm called Cricket Hill Farm. Long Pond and a small unnamed pond were our favorite destinations, reached by hiking over hill and dale with dull old hockey skates slung over our shoulders. We would carefully check if the ice could support us, usually by tossing a very heavy rock (or perhaps a brother) out from shore.
Long Pond was particularly attractive when the new ice was transparent. Chasing fish across the shallow areas near the shore was fun as was searching for rowboats that had slipped their moorings earlier in the year and drifted to the south end of the lake. It was not unusual to find an old boat or two trapped in the ice, half filled with water and lurking in the tall grass lining the swampy shore. If it was windy, we would hold our parkas open like sails and be pushed across the lake at considerable speed. Our excitement was heightened by the loud echoes that accompanied the compression fracturing of the new ice.
The small unnamed pond, which we called Muskrat Pond because of several muskrat homes sticking out of the ice, was our favorite. It was secluded from adult eyes on the nearby dirt road (today, Wiltsie Bridge Road) by shoreline trees and a small hill. There we would always build a warming fire, started with gasoline we carried in a mason jar from the farm. Strike-anywhere kitchen matches were a must for safe ignition. Makeshift benches were assembled out of fallen grave markers from a family cemetery just east of the pond — at our ages we didn’t know any better. Remnants of the cemetery are probably still there.
One winter we pocketed a small number of pistol bullets from our father’s desk and brought them to the pond. After the bonfire was blazing, we looked furtively at each other and tossed the bullets into the flames. Then we ran over a small hill and lay down on our stomachs. After a few muffled pops, we asked one another how many bullets had been tossed in the fire … and how many pops had we heard. The numbers could not be agreed upon, so we left the area for about half an hour, not wanting to have to explain how one of us got shot in the butt — or worse.
In those simpler, kinder times, 60 years ago, trespassing was not an operative word for kids and young teenagers. We didn’t know who owned the land around the ponds, but it didn’t matter. Growing up in rural Columbia County has embedded cherished memories like these in us.
Postscript
Reviewing a 2015 Google Earth aerial photo, our hidden Muskrat Pond now appears to be a swampy wildlife preserve with a viewing boardwalk across the north end. The southeast shore of Long Pond, where we embarked on our skating adventures, is now a private community, complete with a swimming pool and tennis courts.
While visiting the area in September 2016, I attempted to rediscover the small cemetery near the shore of Muskrat Pond. The thick overgrowth was impenetrable, and I did not find the cemetery.
Roger Snyder grew up in Ancramdale on his family’s dairy farm. He and his wife, Cyndy, live in Manassas, Va.
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Throughout the year, the Herald has featured many stories about folk’s experiences living in and around Pine Plains as part of our town Bicentennial coverage. We anticipate continuing this series beyond the Bicentennial year and we invite you to send us your tale. We welcome stories from Ancram, Gallatin, Stanford and Milan as well.
Send your story to: editor@newpineplainsherald@gmail.com. Thanks!